by Sofia Stone
* * *
When they returned, pleasantly exhausted by their outing, Lady Nancy requested their presence in one of the parlors, and were met with tea, pastries, and a grave look on the dowager queen’s face.
“Your uncle has called a meeting of the Draconic Council to discuss the succession, though they don’t know it yet,” Lady Nancy informed them.
“Why so soon?” Gabriel asked. Beside him, Amelia stiffened.
“I informed my son of the assassination attempt. He thought, and I agree, that the longer we wait, the more danger we are in.”
“Will I meet my uncle soon?” asked Amelia eagerly, leaning forward. She knew so little of her father and her father’s family, and his heart went out to her.
“Not until the Council meets. Discretion is everything.”
“So what does this mean for me?” Amelia asked.
Lady Nancy sighed. “Well, your knowledge of the finer points of the modern Zavinian economy will be skimpier than I would like. But it’s no matter. The Council will meet in one week exactly, and we have until then to complete your meager education. There is one subject we have not covered at all yet.”
“What is it? Medieval Zavinian trade agreements? Early Zavinian archaeology?” She paused and smiled impishly. “Underwater Zavinian basketweaving?”
Lady Nancy’s face was stern. “You might think I had forgotten, but I have not. You have yet to receive your ballroom dancing lessons.”
From the expression on Amelia’s face, he could tell she was thinking, Oh, shit.
Chapter Seven: Amelia
“D ancing lessons," Amelia repeated, not quite squeaking. She'd managed to forget completely.
Lady Nancy nodded. “To celebrate the confirmation of the royal heir. It is a Zavinian event of utmost importance. At that ball, it is customary that the Crown Prince or Princess lead the first dance. Do you know how to waltz, Amelia?”
“Um, one time during college I went to a Salsa Club meeting?” she offered. She’d left after about fifteen minutes.
“So that would be a no,” Lady Nancy said dryly. “It’s no more than I was expecting. Gabriel can dance the male part with you as you practice, and Apolline will show you the female part. You may practice in the evenings, after your lessons.”
Amelia’s mind whirled. Princess lessons, learning to dance the waltz, and the Council that could make or break her as princess of Lavinia. “We’re gonna rehearse this, right?” she asked faintly. “Like a wedding?”
Lady Nancy reached over and patted her hand. “We’ll make sure everything goes perfectly.” And Gabriel’s knee bumped against hers. It was a light, blink-and-you-miss-it gesture, but his solid, reassuring presence meant more to her than any other.
“What I know about the waltz could fit into a thimble,” she told Gabriel and Apolline bluntly when it was time for her lesson, facing them with her hands on her hips. Better that they not have any illusions before getting started.
“What do you know about the waltz?” Apolline asked. She was tall and blonde and graceful—she probably looked effortlessly great on the dance floor. How she had become one of Gabriel’s bodyguard crew, Amelia had no idea, and she was dying of curiosity.
“It’s a princessy dance. Um, obviously. It’s . . . sedate?” she tried. “There are fancy dresses. Not a sexy bump-and-grind.”
Gabriel and Apolline both looked amused by her description.
“All of those things are true,” Apolline said diplomatically. “See, you already do know something.”
That was, in Amelia’s opinion, a very generous assessment. She looked down at herself and then at her instructors. “No fancy dresses tonight, though.” They were dressed in workout clothes, more or less, although for some reason she was also wearing heels. If there was something Amelia felt profoundly less-than-sexy in, it was workout clothes. But that didn’t seem to stop Gabriel’s gaze from falling down her figure before he caught himself and dragged it back up . . . more than once.
“It’s about being able to see your movements,” Apolline said, apparently oblivious to the sexual tension. “The kind of dress you will wear at the confirmation ball will have full skirts, multiple layers . . . right now, those would get in the way of a proper critique.”
Amelia felt uncomfortably exposed in her tank top and shorts and found herself wishing something would get in the way. Woman up, she told herself. You can get through this.
“Bring on the critique,” she said grimly, and they began.
First, Apolline and Gabriel demonstrated the proper stance for the two dancers. That required them to stand very close together, and for Apolline to touch Gabriel . . . which Amelia didn’t like at all, although she managed to keep her frustration to herself. Mostly. There was a lot of grimacing and crossing of arms. And one tiny little growl when Amelia placed her hand on Gabriel’s shoulder, but it really was tiny. Or so she hoped.
“Your turn,” Amelia said, and the dragon’s voice in her head snapped, MY turn with MY mate? I’ll show you whose turn it is!
She stepped up to Gabriel and put her hands where Apolline’s had been. She was determined to erase every sign that some other woman had been near her mate. Gabriel helped her adjust her posture, sliding a hand over her waist and pulling her a bit closer.
“Just follow my lead,” Gabriel said in a low voice in her ear. It sent shivers down her spine. Not helpful, Amelia told herself.
She wondered if the waltz was designed to be so torturous. She’d been expecting the torture of being bad at something and having to put up with a lot of criticism . . . but this was something else entirely.
The waltz wasn’t exactly a slinky, sexy dance, but they were standing just close enough for her to feel the heat radiating from his body, and far enough that she yearned to be closer, to press herself against the hard planes of his chest and feel him respond to her. But that wasn’t allowed, so she pouted instead. His thumb moved over her hand where they were clasped as if he knew just what she was thinking.
Apolline came around, touching their elbows and backs and making minute adjustments to their posture—they weren’t quite “boxy” enough, apparently—until she was satisfied.
“So now we dance?” Amelia asked nervously, looking down at her fancily clad feet.
“Not quite,” Apolline said. “Let’s go over the basic box step.”
They broke apart so that Amelia could learn the first steps by herself. She was reluctant to separate herself from Gabriel, but she had to admit . . . it was a little easier to concentrate on the steps when his touch wasn’t distracting her. Later, you’ll get to touch him all you want, she told herself, and smiled at the thought.
Carefully Amelia followed every step as Apolline laid it out for her. A few times she fumbled which foot she was supposed to be stepping with, cursing as she did and having to start over. She found herself extremely glad that there was no mirror around to see herself in.
“You may not want to say that at the ball,” Apolline suggested dryly, making Amelia laugh.
Amelia whispered the steps to herself as they practiced. She was just stepping in a square, stepping and sweeping and bringing her feet together, she told herself as she felt a trickle of sweat run down her temple.
Apolline clapped. “That was good! Let’s see it with your partner. Remember, it’s exactly the same. He’ll be stepping opposite of you, and you’ll move together.”
“The secret to dancing well,” Gabriel said as he grasped her hand, “is to have a good partner.”
“Well, that sucks for you,” she muttered underneath her breath.
He shook his head. “It’s the man’s job in this dance to lead his partner and make her look good. Someone who dances only to make themselves look good is no true partner at all.”
“You have your work cut out for you, then.”
Gabriel’s touch on her skin wiped out what she’d just been working on. I just memorized this! she thought, both furious and hyper-aware of where their
bodies met.
“Right foot back first,” he reminded her sotto voce, as if he knew what she was thinking, and then Apolline was calling out the count and they began to move.
“Oh!” Amelia exclaimed in surprise.
It was so different to dance with a partner.
When Gabriel began to move, his palm pressed oh so gently against her waist, urging her back with him. Every small shift of his torso and arms, each squeeze of his hand, made sense to her brain, alerting her to how they would move together as one, although she couldn’t articulate that sense in words.
She’d expected to be stomping around clumsily. Instead she felt like she was floating across the floor, as if her feet were barely touching the ground. She didn’t even have to look at their feet to judge where they were going or what she should do next. It was just natural, like everything was with Gabriel.
Amelia forgot about everything but the dance as he swept them around the floor. It didn’t matter that she was dressed for a yogalates class, or that they had company—all that mattered was the feeling of being held weightless in his arms. She’d never felt so much like a princess with her prince charming.
When it eventually came to an end, Amelia found herself panting, flushed and excited. She looked up to Gabriel and found his gray eyes alight with the same delight and wonder that she felt. At some point during their dance, Apolline had disappeared, leaving them alone together. Amelia sent her silent thanks.
The hand on her waist slid up to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing over her jaw in a tender gesture. Unable to deny herself any longer, Amelia leaned into him and pressed her lips against his.
He returned her kiss with an intensity that would have been frightening if it wasn’t so wonderful. He claimed her lips with his own, tongue sweeping into her mouth. Amelia parted for him with a sigh and a moan, clinging to his shoulders as his kiss made her knees learn to water. But his arm wrapped around her, cradling her against him and supporting her.
She was startled and disappointed when Gabriel moved away, halting the kiss but framing her face with his hands. But what he said next wasn’t disappointing.
“I need you.”
His voice was hoarse with it, and the words seemed to set her skin on fire and make warmth pool in her core.
“I need you too,” she whispered, and watched his pupils dilate with desire. Heat was coming off him in waves, and she was drawn to him as helplessly as a moth to a flame.
He leaned in to taste her mouth again, plunging his tongue between her lips, and then drew back again with a groan. Amelia clung to his collar and tried to draw him back to her.
“Why are you teasing?” she said with a pout.
Gabriel looked around the parlor. There was furniture, but it had been pushed out of the way for dance practice. She wondered with a sudden thrill if he was going to take her right here on the floor.
But instead he pulled her to the door, tugging on her hand with a smile.
“You deserve a bed. And we’ll need what for what I have planned.” His voice was low and so rich with promise that Amelia felt a rush of arousal between her legs, a sudden slick heat that demanded he be inside her at once.
Amelia darted ahead of him, then looked back over her shoulder with a smile at his surprised look. She slipped off her heels. “Catch me if you can,” she said mischievously, watching his surprise turn to hunger at her words, and then she ran into the hallway.
It was no real contest, or it shouldn’t have been—Gabriel was far more athletic than she was, and his stride much longer—but he didn’t catch her right away. It was a game of hide and seek, a playful hunt, a chase—one with a very rewarding treasure at the end.
Afterward, he rolled off to the side, but he gathered her up in his arms as he did, so that her cheek was resting on his chest, her hair spilling over him. His fingers toyed with the ends of her locks, and she felt his lips press against the crown of her head. Warm contentment filled her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, making them curl.
“I wish we didn’t have to keep us a secret,” she murmured, running a hand over his side.
“If it remains a secret after that, I’ll be very surprised,” he remarked.
“Only until the confirmation ball,” Amelia said, as much to herself as to him. “How will the whole thing go?” she added, angling her face up to see him.
He kissed her lips lightly before replying. “I’ve never been to one. Not a council meeting for sure, and not a confirmation ball either—the last one was for your uncle, decades ago.”
“So you don’t have any idea?” She was disappointed.
He tapped her on the nose. “Not so fast. Confirmation balls are a big social event—there will be hundreds of people, thousands maybe, there. There’ll be a great feast, and dancing—you already know about the dancing. You’ll be expected to lead the first dance, like Lady Nancy talked about. I’m sure there will be plenty of fireworks. We Zavinians love our fireworks. And you’ll shift, of course.”
Amelia wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly. “I’ll what?”
He bopped her on the nose again. “You’ll shift,” he repeated, as if this made perfect sense.
Amelia propped herself up on one elbow. “I’ll what now?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.
His expression was puzzling for a moment, but then it cleared. “You’ve never been around our kind before. You’ll transform, show everyone your other form.”
He must have caught the confusion remaining on her face then, because he frowned. “It’s one of our old rituals. The heir to the crown shifts, transforms, it shows the country you’re strong and capable of leading them. Goes back to the old times.”
If he thought that explanation sufficed, he was completely wrong. “Okay, you lost me,” she informed him, sitting up and crossing her legs. “Shift? Transform? Other form? Is this a theatrical thing?”
The puzzlement was back. He pushed himself up on his hands. “Into your dragon,” he said slowly.
Me, he’s talking about me, said the voice in her head.
“Transform into a dragon,” she repeated . . . and then burst out laughing. She laughed so long and hard tears sprang to her eyes. She covered her face with her hands.
“Okay, okay,” she said finally, hiccuping. “You got me.”
But when she looked at Gabriel, there was no sign of a joke in his eyes. He was totally serious, if bemused.
“Gabriel, what are we talking about?” she asked nervously, bewildered and a little hurt. This couldn’t be some kind of prank, could it? No, it was some kind of misunderstanding. Gabriel wouldn’t. He just wouldn’t. She wrapped her arms around herself, bit her lip, and waited for his reply.
Gabriel leaned toward her, every inch earnest and honest. “You’re a dragon, like me. You don’t know? You can’t remember?”
“You’re talking about more than just a coat of arms or whatever,” she said slowly, and he nodded.
“And you’re talking about more than just getting into a paper mâché dragon at a festival.” Her heart leapt into her throat when he nodded again. “You’re saying Zavinia’s whole dragon . . . thing—” She waved a hand. “Is because you really believe in them?”
Gabriel took her hand. “We don’t just believe in them. We are them,” he said gently, shattering the part of her that had been hoping for an ancient superstition or weird religion.
“Literally,” she said, feeling like she was standing on a precipice. Of what exactly, she wasn’t sure. Something even more life-changing than inheriting a throne, somehow.
“Yes.” He gave her a questioning look. “You had to have known when we met, Amelia. Dragons can always recognize each other. When I saw you I knew you were a dragon shifter. What did you see when you first met me?”
She was gnawing at her lip now. “I . . .” She trailed off, uncertain. She had felt something seriously special when they met, hadn’t she? A powerful attraction, definitely. Lust. Connection. Safety. A strang
e sense of recognition, like she was meeting one of her own kind, for the very first time . . . Was that what he was talking about?
“I knew I had feelings for you,” she said guardedly. The voice in her head trumpeted, It was more than that!
Gabriel’s thumb caressed her hand, his look thoughtful. “Of course. The mate bond. Hmm . . . you have a hoard, don't you?”
"A hoard?"
"Your father’s postcards. You couldn’t leave them behind, could you?”
"I guess. I felt like I had to bring it with me, that I couldn't just leave it behind when I came here and get it later. But they’re important to me—they’re all I have left of my father."
"Dragons love to hoard treasure," he said.
She giggled. "Like in the fairy tales?"
"Yes, like those." He paused. “You don’t believe me, do you?"
She almost believed. She wanted to believe. The voice in her head certainly believed. “I don’t not believe you. It’s just so . . . wild,” she finished lamely.
He only smiled reassuringly. “Seeing is believing, isn’t it? Come on, we’ll go outside. I’ll show you.”
She got dressed quickly, her heart thumping harder. I’ll show you. Could it be true? She trusted him completely, implicitly, with her life, so she went down to the courtyard with him, hand-in-hand.
The evening was chilly, and the stars were stunningly clear. There were no clouds, no pollution. She felt for a moment that Zavinia must exist closer to the heavens than the rest of Earth. Maybe that’s where the dragons come from, she thought, feeling silly, and fought back a laugh.
Even without the sun or any artificial lighting, the moon was bright enough that she could see their surroundings easily. The courtyard was ringed with trees, but there was a wide open space with cobblestones, flowers, and soft green grass.
Gabriel led her to a bench. “Stay here,” he told her, and he began to put some distance between them.
She raised an eyebrow in response but sat on the edge. Her curiosity was eating her alive, and the voice in her head felt restless . . . anticipatory.
